


A mind-reader I am not

by RussianWitch



Series: We are not in Stockholm yet [9]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: 7 year itch, Angst, M/M, non-communication, resolutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assuming things is easy sorting out the assumptions less so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A mind-reader I am not

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd as usual if you feel the urge to correct this I'll be very grateful.

The first time he manages to land a blow on Bane they are both shocked by it.  
Then John actually bests him in one of their sparring matches and neither of them sees it coming. All of a sudden Bane is lying under him, John’s baton at his throat ready to cut off air.  
John can see in Bane's eyes that he can't quite decide how he feels about it: there is both pride and disappointment in the gaze before Bane manages to suppress both and go on with the sparring session. 

John wouldn't even remember the look if he hadn’t woken up alone that night to see Bane standing in front of the windows in the darkness looking out on to the endless snow.  
In all of the years spend at Bane's side he has never noticed Bane having trouble sleeping; gunfire, cold, heat and threats from all sides haven’t managed to keep Bane from sleeping when the man decided he needed it, and all of a sudden he is up in the middle of the night for no reason at all. 

They are back in the mountains.  
John has actually started thinking of the citadel as 'home' a while ago. Being there always means a couple of months of not quite relaxation, but at least being out of firing range and off the radar of all and sundry law enforcement agencies which is a great bonus as far as John is concerned.  
The first week or so after returning everyone only sleeps and eats everything in sight. For that week everything that doesn't come out of a can or pack is a novelty people are willing to kill for. John usually lazes around for a day or two before picking up the usual training schedule again.  
No one is supposed to be brooding, least of all Bane who either thinks things through and eliminates all objections at once lest they dare bother him, or just writes things off as irrelevant and beneath his notice. Bane does not brood as far as John knows. He can’t even imagine what might be happening to actually bother the masked man.

Not wanting to get in the way, John stays in bed and watches. Mostly buried under the covers, shivering due to the absence of Bane's body heat John can’t fall asleep. In the middle of the night being awake in the dark really isn’t a good thing; it makes John think about things he hasn’t found himself wondering about for years.  
His involvement with the gang of mercenaries comes to mind, and actually being emotionally invested in their leader badly enough to be bothered by the slightest hint of rejection from Bane’s side. These days he almost forgets the fact most of the time, but being the good Stockholm syndrome sufferer he prefers Bane to be happy with him.

The obvious conclusion is that now he can tentatively start calling himself Bane's equal he's suddenly a liability instead of...It's funny, how he's hasn't questioned his status in the mess that is his life with the League for years outside of accepting that he will always be "Bane's" despite a lot of things changing. 

If Bane has decided that John isn't entertaining any longer now that he's on equal footing with other League soldiers?  
Should he have resisted his initiation into the mercenary army more to keep things interesting?  
Could the instinct to protect someone have worn off?  
For the first time in his life John wonders if he should have not tried as hard as he did, his training could have lasted longer, nothing would have changed for a while yet if only he hadn't tried so hard. 

Bane turns, uncharacteristically not noticing that John is awake and goes to the desk instead of getting back to bed. The candle barely gives enough light to see the pages of the latest book in Bane's hands, it's flickering light taking away all of the mercenary's humanity as the erratic shadows it makes dance on the walls twist the planes and ridges of the mast into something feral and devoid of humanity. John hasn’t seen the monster when looking at the man for a long time, but now doubt brings the deliberately buried memories back with a vengeance.  
Only it isn’t fear that’s starting to strangle him, rather it’s disappointed and hurt like he still remembers from his years at the orphanage after every visit of some couple who wanted a kid and didn't pick him.  
He hasn't felt this way for years because being Bane’s took away the feeling as irrational as feeling comfort from being picked by a terrorist is, it has never been up for debate but simply a fact of life only now he has to wonder if he hasn't been wrong all along.  
Bane only returns to the bed after the first signs of sunrise illuminate the room. He even keeps a blanket between John and his own chilled body; another first in John's experience, yet reaches out to wrap his hand loosely around John's wrist. 

That night is a sign of things to come; it just takes John a few days to realize.  
The night isn’t a one-off things don't improve over the next week, instead of getting well rested John starts to get twitchy and anxious spending most of the day honing his skills in the rafters instead of socializing or screwing.  
Bane doesn't make demands on his time; it seems to John that he doesn't even realize that John isn't on hand. For the first time in years John feels bereft of the attention he has been taking for granted and can’t help but let it feed his insecurities.  
They don't live in each other's pockets, aside from being impractical an arrangement like that would end up with someone getting murdered horribly that someone in all likelihood being John.  
Besides when in the field John is often far too busy with reconnaissance and his squad, sometimes they aren’t in the same room for weeks on end.  
Still, thinking about his situation for the first time in years he realizes that even in the worst circumstances, knee deep in some godforsaken desert and getting shot at, there have always been moments of...attachment for the lack of better word.  
Even if those moments consisted out Bane's hand in his hair during a brief moment of rest, there has always been something the lack of which now is glaring.

They are still sleeping in the same bed, still fuck, but it seems rote like they aren't doing what they want but what they think is supposed to happen. Despite it being unnecessary Bane keeps his mask on day and night not even taking it off to switch cartridges in John’s presence.

Of course there is an easy solution to the whole mess: John can man-up and straight out ask, only that would mean that he'll actually be answered. Bane won’t bother to lie and John can’t bring himself to expose himself to the complete breakdown of his illusions, not unless he has no other choice any longer. He’s done it before, ignored his own crappy luck as a kid, ignored being underestimated on the job, and ignored the risks during the occupation. As long as he can tell himself that everything is fine he can ignore all the dark thoughts scratching at the back of his brain.  
The situation is beyond his control anyway, no matter how autonomous John is these days when out of in the field and how much respect he usually gets it’s all still by the grace of Bane.  
John is more than aware that had he not aroused Bane’s interest all those years ago, chances are he would have spend the last seven years stuck in a cage somewhere on the lower levels trying to keep his faith in the Bat alive. Getting to actually live and learn has always seemed the better deal until now.  
The certainty that Bruce has died at the end of the occupation has crumbled over the years. He had caught glimpses of rumors, of sightings all over the world of the long lost billionaire but they never came close to Tibet and the Bat never came for John. He’s even pretty sure that one of these days he’ll be pronounced dead, if someone remembers he ever existed back in Gotham. The last part of John Blake will be gone and all that will remain is whatever is currently slowly disintegrating around him at the moment. If John is truthful he isn’t even sure he would want to go back now, because he has gotten used to the shades of gray that make up his life now; there are bad days and good days and John would be lying if he said that he’s been unhappy with it up until Bane starts to distance himself. 

Over the years John has managed to get his anger under control, mostly, well enough to not fly off the handle most of the time.  
Only after two weeks of feeling like he’s waiting for the axe to fall and Bane’s inner circle giving him weird looks, like he’s the one being an idiot John gets sick of being in control of himself and snaps.

He is wandering around high up under the ceiling of the main training hall when he sees Bane watching the puppies that are almost ready to graduate into soldiers sparring.  
It looks like most of the class is finished and only the top students are on the mat most likely fighting for some privilege or other to be granted to the victor.  
Bane is watching intently; interested now that the chance of failure has been minimized in the men presented to him, judging if the best of the litter are good enough for his use.  
The match doesn't last long, in less than a minute one of the men is pinned to the mat for the third time leaving a tall, rangy man standing to receive his prize.  
Bane nods pleased enough with the effort for tactical acknowledgement; reaching out to squeeze the winner's shoulder.  
John grits his teeth annoyed that someone else is getting that which he’s no longer entitled to all of a sudden.  
The rangy man bows his head, but instead of simply accepting the praise he twist slightly brushing his cheek minutely against Bane's hand; John goes cold inside when no reprimand is given for the liberty. The cold only lasts a second before the fire that has been banked inside John breaks free roaring in his ears and blinding him to everything but the man who has dared...  
John is too angry to even finish the though; he doesn't remember how he ends up on the ground his favorite weapons in hand standing over the puppy who is grabbing at John's foot that's pressing on his throat. The man struggles but John simply puts more weight on his throat until the puppy is turning blue in the face.  
All around them men stop what they are doing to stare at the uncharacteristic actions of Bane's pet. It isn’t that no one is aware that John can fight; blooded League soldiers have fought beside him and under his command, some of the puppies have sparred with him in training but no one has seen him attack unless threatened first. Sure that he has the puppy's attention John slams one of his batons in to the mat less than an inch from the prone man's head. 

"Do not presume, ever again." 

The soft words echo through the hall, not really John's intention but something that can't be helped since even the noise of the fires seems to have quieted down.  
He doesn't look to see if the puppy has gotten the message, if he hasn’t someone else will make sure he’s reminded of it eventually, replaces his foot with the baton squeezing the man's throat until the man is unconscious. Only when the body under him has gone limp, does John let go, standing up to look at the audience that has gathered around them. 

John can't interpret the look in Bane's eyes when he finally meets his gaze, doesn't really want to analyze it as long as enough rage is burning through his body to make him feel like he is back in his teens again.  
Unwilling to deal with the fallout he turns away before anyone can shake off the shock, turns out bad-ass ninja's can be surprised in to immobility just like regular people.  
John puts away his weapons and walks out. 

Going back to the room doesn't seem right for some reason.  
Chances are he won't even be welcome there after this stunt; instead he ends up on the third floor balcony. It has become his favorite place to think over the years, there is even a chest with waterproof, warm blankets that has appeared some years ago.  
John doesn't take them out this time perfectly happy to let the icy wind sandblast away the rage.  
He isn't sure what pisses him off more: the audacity of the puppy or that Bane allowed it. John has gotten used to being pretty much the only one with permission to touch Bane freely, who gets touched without ending up with broken bones.  
John doesn't think that he'll be able to deal with watching Bane paw at someone else.  
He digs his fingers into the stones of the parapet trying to absorb the cold through touch, wrap the cold around his center so that he won't hurt as bad when he gets put aside.  
He's lasted seven years: longer than he's lasted as a cop, longer than any relationship he's had in his life. John would love to damn Bane to hell for messing with his head, making his grow attached but really it isn't Bane's fault that John has been attention starved all of his life and dove head first in to the Stockholm Syndrome pool just because he'd been bored, missed getting laid and Bane was there. These days he thinks clearer when higher up, even with the harsh winds make balancing tricky it’s an easy feat for him to jump up on the parapet.

Down in the yard several dogs are milling around, occasionally looking up at him with expectation. Unlike the dogs in the lower yards these are, recreational; the ones that were going to be killed because they were the runts of their litters. John hadn't been able to find a home for all of the dogs who didn’t make the cut every time, so somehow he has ended up with his own little pack living the quite life in Bane's private garden. They can smell him on his balcony and are used to him coming down to give them attention.  
Only he can't be in the yard at the moment because the yard is Bane's and had been Talia's before and it always feels like he's invading when he's down there alone. Instead he crouches down on the parapet secure in the knowledge that even if he does get blown off it won't matter, not now. 

Looking out at the jagged expanse beyond the citadel walls he wonders if he shouldn't have pushed harder and gotten himself killed in the beginning, or tried harder to escape. He might have gotten lucky then and actually made it back to civilization or had ended up in a ravine somewhere.  
Either would have been less painful than having all these...feelings.  
Deep in thought he stands up again to pace the parapet as the dogs start to bark in the yard below. The snow coming down limits his sight and makes his steps treacherous but John knows every crack and bump of the parapet by now and ignores the risk. He can scale most of the roofs of the citadel blind-folded in a snowstorm, fly from rooftop to rooftop better than anyone else present pacing a balcony doesn’t even take half of his concentration.  
In the air he always feels in control. 

It's unfortunate that the feeling has never translated into the time he's spends on the ground.  
Twisting sharply on the corner less careful than he usually is, he slips on an unexpected patch of ice and overbalances. John fights to stay upright for a moments, but it’s another fight he loses.  
It takes a second for gravity to take hold of him and in that second he truly feels like he is flying.

Before gravity’s grasp sends John into the courtyard below a bruising grip on his arm ends his flight slamming his body into the balcony’s outer wall, rattling every joint and bone in John’s body and knocking the breath out of his lungs.  
John can recognize the grip in his sleep.  
When the pain ebbs he looks up into stormy grey eyes blazing down on him.  
It's a miracle that his arm hasn't been wrenched out of its socket; he's dragged over the parapet and dumped on the balcony floor so that Bane can get a better grip on him.  
Before he can get a word out, still getting his breath back, he's grabbed around the waist and thrown over Bane's shoulder.  
His mind flashes back some years to the period when John still had episodes of rebellion: seeing the halls of the citadel from the upside down perspective hadn’t exactly been a rarity and part of Bane’s preferred solution to deal with John’s tantrums.  
No longer absorbed by his thoughts John notices how cold he has gotten.  
His body starts to shake and Bane’s grip on his legs tightens.  
He isn't even sure how long he's been wandering the balcony before screwing up; not only did he slip but missed Bane’s entrance as well. Bane, as always, radiates heat that John can feel even with two layers of clothing between their skins. He usually loves the fact that Bane is a furnace he can twine around to stay warm under most circumstances but now that there is a pretty high chance he’s going to be deprived of the privilege John would prefer not to be reminded of it.  
He can feel tension radiating from Bane and wonders if he shouldn't have just ignored the touch, or not left the puppy unconscious, it could even be that he was just supposed to go get his stuff and relocate to one of the dorms. John has never really paid attention on the etiquette for ending relationships or whatever in the League, he is aware that some of the men sleep together and others go down to the villages from time to time to visit a woman or even a family. No one talks about them, the relationships are simply a fact of life that doesn’t need mentioning, so John hasn’t really noticed any protocols for ending them. John wonders if he shouldn’t have been paying closer attention to more than the weapons training. 

Back in what John has gotten used to thinking of as "their" room, the door is locked and bolted before he gets dumped on the bed. With the door locked the simplest escape route for John is cut off, the windows are still an option but flying out would only prolong the inevitable.  
Having Bane tower over him hasn't caused anything but lust in John for a long time, but all of a sudden he can't read the emotions sparking in Bane's eyes and that makes him uneasy.  
John doesn't move from the sprawl he's landed in, only digs his fingers into the furs under him readying for what's coming. 

"You should be more cautious." 

Not exactly what John expects, but it doesn't mean that there won't be a confrontation; it doesn't mean he won't get discarded. All in all John would prefer to get it over with as fast as possible.

"What do you care? If you'd let me drop you could go play with your new toy!" 

He doesn't expect to see a minute flinch almost hidden behind the mask.  
The mask he's been looking at for weeks on end now, the mask that is practically part of Bane’s face but now feels like a barrier to keep him away.  
For the first time since coming to the citadel John really hates looking at the damn thing. 

"Do you wish to die?" 

Bane doesn't move, John can't even hear him breathing.  
He doesn't understand the question, because really this isn't about him or what he does or doesn’t want. 

"No, why do you ask?" 

From the recesses of his mind he digs up the tone he used to use on condescending superiors a lifetime ago. The ceiling with its peeling paint in the corner and the holes where John’s practice with throwing knives has left its mark. All the little things that have made the room feel like home to him that in the end seem to have meant nothing.

"Your actions of late have been rash." 

John can only snort, describing almost killing someone because of a pat on the cheek as 'rash' seems the understatement of the year. 

"Yeah, well, I've been described as a 'hothead' before. Can you just get it over with? I want to know where I'll be sleeping tonight." 

The rage that flashes in Bane's eyes sends a chill through John's body; he has never seen it directed at himself before. He also hadn’t realized that despite his current feelings he really wants to live.

"You wish to find another bed?" 

John feels like his nails are digging holes in the furs because as long as he's clawing at the leather he isn't lashing out at the statue in front of him. 

"This isn't about me! It's never been about what I WISH! Because if it had ever been about that, I would still been in Gotham working as a detective and helping people!" 

Strictly speaking that isn’t true, he isn’t sure if he’d still be a cop not after seeing how inefficient the justice system can be sometimes and he knows that they do help people on occasion, or at least prevent things from getting worse.

He feels like the lid has been blown off the box he's been keeping in the back of his head for seven years with the label "Don't think about it" with all manner of things spilling out like the fact that this isn't the life he's envisioned for himself, the fact that he's not free no matter how relaxed his imprisonment has become, the fact that no matter how he feels about it Bane can change his mind, get bored or whatever and leave John behind because John really has no say in the matter so the whole conversation might as well not be happening. Free of the box all of his darkest thoughts fill him up to bursting and finally spill out of his mouth because he can’t stand keeping it in any longer and because there isn’t really a reason to keep it all any more since it’s going to blow up on him anyway despite his efforts.

No longer caring about the consequences is liberating, it allows him to lash out physically; jump up to kick out at the mask, release the tension of the last weeks. Bane diverts the blow away, John’s boot connecting with his shoulder before he's thrown off to slam into the nearest wall.  
Fortunately John is rather familiar with hitting a wide selection of walls by now; these days it doesn't slow him down any, he's on his feet as soon as he's caught his breath.  
He goes low, using his full weight he manages to unbalance the bigger man, but gets caught as Bane goes down.  
Unexpectedly he lands on Bane's chest instead of under the man who has twisted mid fall to achieve this, John’s fingers dig into Bane's biceps as he tries to get out of Bane's grip, he tries to kick with the result that his legs are pinned down under Bane's leg, Bane's arms preventing him from rising. 

"John." 

He can feel Bane's fingers digging into his back far harder than he has ever felt leaving bruises that John really doesn’t want to have, for once.  
The sound of his name shocks him somewhat out of his anger.  
Somehow he's ended up being called 'Robin' more and more often over the years, Bane is pretty much the only one to still use 'John' on occasion. 

"What!" 

"Are you going to leave?" 

Bane sounds rough, his rumbling voice vibrating through John's bones even as it's barely audible. John grits his teeth trying to ignore the pain radiating through his body from Bane's grip while wondering what the hell he's being asked. 

“Aren’t I supposed to?" 

He tries to get loose again and is surprised when he's released; sitting up and straddling Bane's abdomen he looks down in confusion.  
Bane looks smaller, fragile and hesitant; one hand hovering over John's knee like he's afraid to be rebuffed if he tries to touch. 

"You have completed your training; the choice to stay or go is yours." 

John looks away studying the floor, from the corner of his eye he can see one finger ghosting over his knee too light to feel until it finds a hole in John's pants.  
The sensation of one finger pad resting on his skin is electrifying; it makes John shiver and focus fully on the tentative touch.  
It feels more intimate than getting screwed and he feels bereft when Bane pulls away as soon as he notices John watching.  
Sitting up Bane gently pushes John off his lap onto the floor to rise and turn away not meeting John’s eyes.

"I shall make arrangements to return you to Gotham." 

He’s pretty sure that Bane is still speaking English, and yet John can’t make sense of the words.

"What?" 

Bane doesn't turn around to answer him. John can see muscles tighten and relax in the broad back, he can read in them the tension Bane is trying to control.

"That is what you wish, is it not? You have made it quite clear that your life is there."

"What I mostly wish is to not have to watch you pick another pet now that the old one is done learning new tricks." 

John doesn't bother getting up, the floor is nice and cool, not as cold as the snow but at least it keeps him grounded. In his head he's already trying to make a list of all the things he needs to sort out before he's turned out on his ass...wondering what the hell he's supposed to do with the dogs for one.

"I have never kept pets..." 

Bane is rarely confused, that should alert John that things might be not quite as they seem.  
John feels like his guts are twisted up in to knots by the sense of rejection.  
To hear Bane deny the only position John has had for the last part of his life, it actually, physically hurts. 

"Well, fuck you!" 

He scrambles up needing to do something, anything to stop thinking, because otherwise he has to start figuring out how he's supposed to get money, and papers, he hasn't thought about papers in years and all those other things normal people need to have to prove that they are normal people. Normal people who can’t in a few random words get downgraded to bed-warmer, whore or something like that in any case choking the hope that had started to grow at Bane’s hesitant touch moment before. 

"Just...you know what? I don't care really, not like I'm not used to being called a whore..." 

And alright, that might be an exaggeration because that did happen a few times here and there, but that was a long time ago and didn’t even bother him all that much then because he knew better. 

"Who dared?" 

John shakes his head; the nearest chest yields the backpack he's been using when they aren't in the citadel. It's still mostly packed only missing his dirty clothing and the few trinkets he's been keeping for years. John ignores Bane’s tone because obviously he has only thought that he could read the nuances of it so he might just give up and focus on getting his shit together and maybe get some payback.

"Who didn't? I'm not one of your soldiers so that leaves the clients with limited options as to what I’m supposed to be to you." 

"You should not have been insulted so." 

Focused on digging through the chests for things he might need John doesn't hear Bane come closer until he's spun around, forced to look up. 

"You are neither a whore or a pet. I had hoped..." 

Hearing the word ‘hope’ come out of Bane’s mouth without derision makes John frown as he tries to pull away.

"Weren't you the one with the "hope poisons the soul" spiel?" 

His struggle only manages to work him in to a corner to be trapped between the wall and Bane's bulk.  
Bane's sigh is a metallic whistle almost too low to hear. 

"It still holds true." 

Bane's thumb rubs John's bottom lip.  
It's a gesture John hasn't experienced since Bane started to take his mask off around him.  
It's a gesture he's realized that he has missed despite its simplicity. 

"It seems I am fated to lose all I try to protect." 

It could be that he hasn’t been caught but instead landed on his head in the garden. Every time he tries to give Bane a quick resolution so he can go lick his wounds in peace somewhere Bane says something to throw John for a loop. Like they are dancing to different melodies as he remembers hearing someone say once.

"Protect?!" 

John snaps, the thumb still stroking his lip convenient target to sink his teeth into, he overestimates and tastes blood. 

"Taking me hostage? Dragging me to the other side of the world? You call that protection?!" 

Bane doesn't pull away instead he paints John's lips with his blood. 

"Despite all that you thrived; learned to fly, to make a place for yourself in the world. Your flame burns bright, but it doesn't consume you." 

John can’t handle deciphering riddles the way he’s feeling.

"So what?" 

Bane’s fingers trace John’s cheekbones and jaw over and over again like he’s trying to memorize them.

"I have yet to find another who burns this bright." 

"What, you been looking?" 

It’s hard to focus on the conversation and not start to catalog all the times John hadn’t been able to accompany Bane in the past and the bigger man had the opportunity to look for someone with ‘the flame’. 

"No, I had you." 

Bane’s answer is calm, level like he’s stating a simple fact of life.  
John licks blood off his lips, the metallic taste is somewhat familiar if not exactly comforting. He is starting to suspect that he has no idea what the hell is going on. John decides to cling to the one thing he is sure of.

"You touched him; you never touch recruits unless you're wiping the floor with them." 

Bane nods.

"He was presumptuous, you were right to issue a reprimand." 

The answer confirms that they are working from different scripts or John might have dropped into an alternative dimension where he’s actually allowed to knock people out because... He almost gets distracted because as they talk Bane moves in closer, sliding his hands down until he can pull John into a light embrace. John allows it, his anger turning into confusion and a sulky annoyance.

"You allowed it!" 

Somehow John ends up wrapped around Bane as they talk nuzzling at the crook of Bane's neck. The memory of the trainee's audacity makes him sinks his teeth into tight muscles; partly in a minor act of revenge and from the need to leave his mark.

"You are perfectly capable of reminding the boy that it was not his place." 

Bane's hands rub up and down his back finally sliding down to cup John's ass forcing him to swallow a purr of pleasure. It would be so easy to get distracted and just focus on the physical, John groans his next question.

"Why?" 

"In your own way you are my equal now, no longer in need of protection and capable of enforcing your own boundaries." 

It takes a few moment for John to translate before a quite absurd idea starts to grow in his mind.  
He's gotten decent in interpreting Bane's logic on the whole, before he started to doubt himself. The man can be infuriatingly literal in his words, rarely playing word games and only lying by omission. John has so far never caught him out on an outright lie.

"Because, you've been enforcing them for me?..." 

Bane nods, hoisting John up further so that he has no choice but to wrap his legs around Bane's waist. It’s a familiar position that wraps John in the heat that is Bane and raising the distraction factor.

"...And now you don't think you need to any longer?" 

Bane takes a step forward while nodding moving them around until John's back is braced comfortably against the wall.  
John slips his hands under Bane’s shirt, digs his nails into the broad back partly to hang on and partly because the urge to mark has yet to subside. Despite never getting discouraged he has always been hesitant to leave marks but now it’s all he can think about.

"You're fucked in the head you know that?" 

Bane frees a hand to trace the planes of John's face again while a metallic chuckle annoys John in to a halfhearted struggle and several curses.

"The men have started to copy your bad habits; it is most detrimental for discipline." 

He snorts at Bane’s complaint slowly starting to let go of all the doubts that have gotten their claws in him over the last weeks. He still needs answers; with his anger drained away getting them seems if not easier, at least feasible. 

"Don't change the subject! If you aren't kicking me out I want to know what the hell is going on!"

Bane's fingers tangle in his hair half petting half tugging something that feels disgustingly good.

"When training is finished every man has a choice. Most stay to serve the League, others go out into the world to spread justice, breaking all ties to this place. You are ready to make this choice, go back to Gotham if you wish; I did not want to influence your choice."

The League's hard-on for choices is really annoying at times as far as John is concerned.  
Because taking a stab at following Bane's twisted logic he can see how ignoring John for weeks can be interpreted as giving him space.  
Space John has learned to do without, and hadn't even asked for, space that's managed to bring up every one of John's insecurities. 

"I thought you were done with me." 

He gets an answer almost before he finishes speaking.

"Never." 

Another fact of life it seems that almost makes John feel faint. Only if Bane hasn’t gotten bored with him, doesn’t foresee getting bored with John than offering to send him back to Gotham actually is about what John wants. 

"So did you really expect me to just pack up and go back to Gotham after seven years? No documents, no money and no explanation for where the hell I was for the last seven years? I won't even start on the fact that thanks to your main source of income I’m a wanted criminal in so many countries I've lost count over the years!" 

Bane's other hand leaves John's ass, causing him to groan in displeasure until it burrows under John’s shirt to lie like a brand across his lower back. 

"Those are minor hindrances, not reasons to stay."

Because there are actually several forgers working exclusively on keeping the League in all manner of documents good enough to get John anywhere he wants to go in the world. Of course those aren’t good reasons, because if John is honest his reasons to stay are pretty damn simple and suspiciously similar with those of a sixteen-year-old girl’s with her first boyfriend.

"No? And what would be a good reason?" 

Surrounded by Bane's heat, actually getting an explanation idiotic as it is, John can feel the last of the anxiety flowing out of his body slowly getting replaced with lust.  
Bane ignores his question rubbing his brow against John's cheek suddenly no longer meeting John's eyes.  
John wonders if it could really be this simple.  
He can just drop the subject; go on as they have before, since he's pretty sure that Bane will stop the strange behavior now. 

"Bane!" 

John digs his nails into the back of Bane's neck eliciting a pleased growl before he gets an answer.

"I am not sure what you expect to hear.”

Thinking about it for a second John wonders if Bane has ever had reason for a similar conversation. John knows that there was Talia but from the bare minimum he has managed to learn about her that relationship didn’t involve any sort of declarations. 

"How about that you can't live without me and don't want me to leave?" 

Letting his inner overly dramatic teenager out feels good because despite being a grown man, sure and mostly emotionally mature it is sort of what John wants to hear, just for clarification purposes. 

"That would not be correct, I would be able to function thou I would prefer to keep you here." 

Bane never having been infected with the Hollywood version of love and all that goes along with it misses, his cue but the answer is heartening. It makes John poke at Bane again fishing for the words he hasn’t expected to hear directed at himself by anyone.

"Just here?" 

John is starting to enjoy dragging this out, he's been twisting in the wind for two weeks, in his own way Bane has done the same but John still wants to see him squirm just a little because most of it could have been explained years ago saving John some sleepless nights.

"At my side, in my bed, whichever you prefer for as long as you will stay."

They are nose to mask practically breathing the same air. John finally dares to put a label on the strange look he has been seeing more and more in Bane’s eyes. 

"As what?"

"John..." 

He can't help grinning at the exasperated tone, squirming into a better position to brush his lips against Bane's brow. 

"Yeah, well orphans are notoriously needy, if you didn't know that already."

With one sharp pull John's shirt is history.  
Arching into Bane's exploring hands John returns the favor, shredding Bane's shirts until they are skin to skin. 

"I had not noticed..." 

John's fingers hook into one of the side straps of the mask stroking the sensitive skin under it. 

"Right, yeah..." 

Before John can formulate a decent sentence his pants are torn off and a finger slips into his ass.  
Dry entry hurts a bit but John doesn't care because it means he'll feel it for the next couple of days. Bane doesn't drag things out, the mask scratches across John's shoulder as the man buries his face in the crook of John's neck.  
He can only curse bearing down on the intrusion, forcing his body to accept the second finger as well as he fumbles with Bane's belt and trousers.  
John doesn't hold in the scream when he's penetrated, cursing at the top of his lungs at the feeling of being filled, the sense of being connected again.  
The fuck is messy and slightly awkward; John has no leverage all he can do is claw at Bane's back and take it. When Bane’s eyes meets John’s, his eyes are wild.  
John can't help but trace the straps of the mask again barely keeping himself from clawing it off. 

"I want to see your face..." 

John isn’t sure that he’s been heard, but Bane freezes; his hands dig into John's thighs momentarily before thrusting in sharply. He pins John to the wall with his bulk to free his hand and John is too busy seeing stars for a moment to realize what's happening. The distraction lasts long enough for Bane to reach up to snap the fastenings on the mask.

John’s mouth is taken in a bruising kiss, shocking in its intensity, narcotic and taking John's breath away. Bane's hips start moving again, grinding John into the wall, sending pleasure up his spine, screwing him into the wall as Bane molests his mouth.  
They don't last long, despite fucking pretty much nightly this is different, far more intense.  
John feels like they are making a promise now, like this is the rest of his life starting out.  
He comes screaming into Bane's mouth, gorging welts in Bane's back.  
Bane's orgasm brings him to his knees, dragging John along to sprawl on the cold floor.  
It takes John several minutes before he gets his breath back.  
An alarm in the back of his mind not letting him just zone out into the afterglow.

His thought processes come back on-line enough to notice that next to him Bane is starting to shake, panting with pain the mask having landed just out of reach and the pain having already reached a debilitating level.  
John forces himself into action diving for the mask to jam it on Bane's face, holding it tight until Bane has taken several deep breaths.  
Bane pulls the mask and John's hand away, grasping his neck to drag John down to claim his mouth again. John can taste the chemicals, almost feel them enter his system and making him dizzy, or it could be that just the kiss is making his light-headed.

When he finally finds enough self-control to extricate himself from Bane's grasp John finds the IV and a clean needle. He can set up the IV with his eyes closed by now; find a clean vein and stick the needle in.  
Bane watches him with that weird look in his eyes that John now knows is affection.  
He gets up to fasten the IV onto the pole he's dragged along from its usual corner, looking down on the man sprawling lazily on the floor meeting his gaze with a smile. 

"So now what?" 

As cathartic as the conversation has been it hasn’t cleared up anything about John’s future or what he’s supposed to do now. Bane wraps a hand around John's ankle stroking his thumb over the prominent anklebone. 

"I am open to suggestions. Once additional men have been picked several offers have been made for our services." 

"Which means being ass deep in sand again doesn't it?" 

Bane snorts in response finally getting to his feet and getting rid of the last shreds of his clothing. 

"We shall see, feel free to find alternatives. Barsad would probably thank you; he doesn't like what the sand does to his rifles." 

John snorts wondering how the hell they have managed to go from emotional meltdown to discussing the location of the next job.  
He studies Bane and realizes that he can read him again a revelation after two weeks of slamming himself in to a wall. Now that he’s had confirmation that he isn’t reading his own wishes in to Bane’s eyes.  
Bane smiles at him, a crooked, twisted thing because of the scars and John realizes that they are both probably fucked in the head.


End file.
